


now, to redefine a word

by dalishluthien



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: (still dont know how ao3 tags rly work whats UP), Character Study, M/M, Working things out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-05
Updated: 2017-05-05
Packaged: 2018-10-26 19:06:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10792893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dalishluthien/pseuds/dalishluthien
Summary: Dorian considers his use of the word 'primal' while courting the Inquisitor, and finds that perhaps it is not such a bad choice, after everything.





	now, to redefine a word

_Primal_ ,  
  
Dorian had said, his chest pressed to the Inquisitor's back, equal parts hopeful and terrified. Thrilled when he reciprocated; worried about what that might mean for them, afterwards. _Primal_. A word that Tevinter had made ugly - a word that had been instilled in his mind to mean the most base animal actions, used to grow a natural hatred inside every Tevinter child for the Qunari warriors that lived an ocean away. A word that served to take away responsibility and consequence.  
  
If this was primal - _this_ , Dorian perched on the edge of the Inquisitor's bed, the Herald himself seated in his lap, the two writhing in a perfect-breathless-focused synchronicity, well - the word became something exquisite. Dorian wanted to live in it, just as they were, like this; the Inquisitor's open mouth resting against his temple, dripping with quiet, awed praise and short hot breaths, his entire body striving to give the mage everything he could as he rode him.  
  
He wanted to kiss him. Their rhythm was unhurried but not slow, their hips rising and falling in perfect counter to each other, both too focused on merely existing within this sanctum they now shared to remember to speak. Mahon shifted his weight, wrapped his thick arms tighter around Dorian's shoulders, and sweetly said "Oh," when this new angle let Dorian's next thrust drag agonizingly against his prostate.  
  
So Dorian kisses him, marvels at how easy and right and open it is, and thrusts again, thrusts until the oh's become shaky-high-pitched ah's and the Inquisitor stretches his entire body - hard and hot and every muscle shaking - flush against his, trapping his dick between their stomachs, pumping his hips down onto Dorian with an urgency and wonder that is so very --  
  
_Primal_.  
  
Dorian feels the muscles in the Inquisitor's back twitch beneath his warm hands, feels the muscles in his thighs jump and shiver - spread as they are - atop his own. Mahon breaks the kiss when he comes, and Dorian knows immediately it's because he wants to see him - wants to be seen by him. It makes him dizzy, seeing the certainty and need in his eyes before they flutter beautifully shut, mouth wet and open around a soundless moan that shakes the elf's whole body. Dorian can barely breathe - doesn't, until Mahon gasps in a breath himself and falls into the space between the man's shoulder and neck - and when the Inquisitor slips one hand into the sticky space between them, timidly touching his own come where it paints Dorian's stomach the same moment he kisses Dorian's neck, he is lost. Lost in love, in heat and comfort. He kisses the side of the Inquisitor's head, bucks up once, twice, feels the elf's body clench encouragingly, helpfully, _generously_ around him, three times, four - and he comes with a groan that leaves him winded, buried deep as he can go, arms clamped protectively around Mahon's relaxed waist.  
  
A pause, then -  
  
Mahon kisses his pulse slowly and easily, nestles against him like he's made a home out of him, and it leaves Dorian light-headed, trembling with the aftershocks of his orgasm, overcome with equal parts elation and dread, adoration and anxiety. Dorian does not want to pull out of him; the fact that Mahon seems to not want him to either is enough of a reassurance to make his eyes burn. Rather than cry, he tightens his embrace around the Inquisitor, relishing in the slide of their exhausted bodies while they're still warm, in the little nonsense murmur Mahon offers as encouragement. Eventually, they roll over. They use the bed sheets to haphazardly wipe themselves off, caught somewhere between wakefulness and sleep. And Dorian surrenders a small piece of himself.  
  
Something minute and magnificent shifts quietly into place in his mind. Dorian thinks, _I want to be responsible for this_ , his blood humming in his veins. He wills his eyes to stay open, watching as Mahon's flushed face relaxes into sleep, his soft baby hairs sticking to his cheeks, forehead, nose. Dorian dares to move a strand - marvels at how it makes the Inquisitor's eyelashes flutter, makes the bridge of his nose twitch - before pulling his hand away to rest curled against his chest.  
  
Dorian thinks, _Primal_ , and remembers what it felt like to see the Herald of Andraste unbend and open for him, to be permitted to look and touch and taste him under his safe gaze. He thinks _Primal_ , but he feels _vital_ , _fundamental_ , _sacred_ and _home_ , instead.

**Author's Note:**

> oh god my first fic here!!!!! hello!
> 
> I'm a big sap and I need to write things where Dorian finds Endless Waves of Self Acceptance within himself because he deserves no less....  
> i may write an accompanying fic from Mahon's pov, because he has some pretty bad memories associated with Tevinter too!!  
> im shy but please expect more of these two......  
> [(This is Mahon btw!! I have a whole tag full of him!)](http://rennybu.tumblr.com/post/162422366230/mahon-and-dorian-engaging-in-silent-coded)  
> come say hello on tumblr! i'm rennybu :'^)


End file.
